Cosmopolitan
by starbuckx
Summary: Draco Malfoy meets Astoria Greengrass and things are suddenly different.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Title: Cosmopolitan **

**Part 1/3**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly. Not that I've ever particularly wanted Draco, but he seems to be taking over. ::sighs:: JKR owns them. **

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Draco Malfoy had always taken pride in his image. He'd been fastidious about the state of his hair, concerned about finding the right cologne and downright obsessive about getting the best clothes. The concern for his overall image had gone one step further, however. He'd devoted a lot of time in the days after he left Hogwarts to the careful study of the most inane subjects, conversation starters as he liked to call them. He'd found that if you had a good topic, people would refrain from asking about the war. 

He'd do anything to avoid questions about the war.

They'd moved to the coast of France right afterwards, trying to avoid the negative press.

His parents still lived down there in total oblivion, choosing to believe that things were just like they used to be and life hadn't changed for their only son. That their name didn't bring with it insult and ridicule.

That he was just Draco Malfoy to people, and not that Malfoy Coward.

He, however, was painfully aware of the truth. He hid from it, because he was good at doing that, frequented outlandish parties and stayed carefully away from places where he might run into former classmates. It was comfortable, to go back to worrying about his appearance, and to forget when he had to worry about anything but.

Astoria Greengrass somehow changed that.

A whirlwind of blonde hair and incredibly dark eyes, he hadn't recognized her as a Hogwarts alumna at first. Her French had been perfect, her manner reminiscent of the half-Veela that had been the Beauxbatons representative at the Tri-wizard Tournament. He'd been totally captivated by her, but he'd chalked that up to her being part Veela, and had carefully avoided going close to her.

That was, until she'd come face to face with him, extended her hand and said in crisp, perfect English:

"Astoria Greengras. You were a couple years ahead of me at Hogwarts."

He'd found it hard to compose a coherent response. Up close, her eyes seemed to be burning into him, and he felt like taking two steps back. Dimly, he recalled Daphne Greengrass and somehow made the connection, but he couldn't remember seeing that face before; he was somehow sure he never would have forgotten about it if he had. He was completely aware that his own thoughts didn't make much sense, and he felt dimly detached from it all, almost as if mind and body were two separate entities, operating on completely different instructions.

"Erm, Draco Malfoy," he'd managed. "I can't say I remember you from Hogwarts."

Charming. At least he'd refrained from adding that if he had remembered her he would have made sure he'd fled the room before she had a chance to interrogate him. That's all everyone seemed to want to do, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. They all wanted to know why. And he didn't have an answer he felt like sharing.

"I didn't think you would," she replied calmly. "Or I wouldn't have introduced myself." There was a glimmer of a smile lurking there, just for a moment before her face relaxed into the somewhat stern expression that seemed to be her trademark. "I will admit I was a little relieved at seeing a familiar face among the crowd, so I will apologize for imposing myself on you. Parties like these make me rather uncomfortable."

"Not very Slytherin of you" was all he could say.

"Whoever said I was a Slytherin?" She was smiling now; Draco could see it, though her smile didn't seem to take over her whole expression like it did with others. But she was clearly amused, and he felt a sudden pain in his chest at the thought. He could still have this conversation. Amazing.

"You were a Slytherin," he assured, though he really had no way of knowing. He'd like to tell himself it didn't really matter, that if she said she'd been a Hufflepuff he wouldn't turn around and leave, but he wasn't quite sure that was true. He still clung to many of his ideas, because they were his, and giving up all of them meant giving up who he was. He wasn't willing to do that.

Either she could see through his confusion, or she never truly meant to trick him, because she nodded. "I was." She was inching somewhat closer to him, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've always prided myself on my ability to appear rather insignificant, though. Innocent, if you will."

He couldn't pay attention to her words. He knew she was saying something important, giving him a glimpse of personality that she probably kept tightly locked. Her perfume was distracting him, though, a tangy scent that reminded him of absolutely no one. He'd never known a girl who dared to use a perfume like that.

"You don't really seem innocent," he told her, after a while. Enough time had passed so that his reply made her jump slightly, almost as if she'd been somehow sure that the conversation was over.

"You only say that because I admitted that I was trying to appear so."

He nodded. It was entirely possible she was right. He'd underestimated her from the start; chalked up her charm to magical means when truly, up close, he could see that she wasn't as beautiful as he made her out to be. Her nose was a bit crooked, her lips too thin for her face. They made her look stern, even when she was simply looking ahead.

The eyes that had impressed him seemed to be in total contradiction to her blonde hair, almost as a badly put-together outfit. Up close she almost seemed almost unbearably thin, in a way his mother would appreciate but that he didn't find attractive at all.

Why he still found her mesmerizing, he would never know.

She interrupted the silence, once again. "Would you care to dance, Mr. Malfoy? I do believe you're suited to withstand the hardships much better than my previous partners."

He nodded, feeling completely and utterly stupid. He didn't know what to say to her, and it wasn't just what she was that made him tongue-tied. It was also where she came from, what she probably knew about him. The inevitable question hung in the air, and he half-wished her could stop time and make sure she never had the chance to ask it.

There was no chance of talking as they stepped onto the dance floor. She stepped into his embrace, and together they followed the music. He felt stuck in the middle of a cliché, utterly and completely lost to the moment, and yet dimly aware that he wasn't the first person to ever feel like this, and he'd end up looking stupid sooner or later.

"Thank you," she said, when the music stopped. "I do believe my uncle is calling me." She nodded towards an older looking man in the corner. "I guess I'll see you later."

Something came over him suddenly, like the ghost of the man his mother had always fancied his father to be. "Save me another dance," he said, softly, but strong enough for her to hear.

There was a glint in her eyes. "Will do, Mr. Malfoy," she replied after a moment and left him to contemplate all the possible ways she could mess up his life. The negatives vastly outnumbered the positives, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he should make up an excuse and just leave the party, or even worse, disappear completely without a word.

He stayed rooted to the spot, however, watching couple after couple of not-so familiar faces pass across the dance floor. His mind strayed to the Yule Ball, to Pansy Parkinson and sweaty hands, to that forgettable night in the Room of Requirement and many good ones afterwards. To the Hogwarts he liked to remember.

It was all gone in a flash, though. Hogwarts was once again a dreary and unwelcome presence in his mind, and the image of Crabbe came unbidden to his mind, as he'd seen him that last time, eyes fixed on nothing.

He hadn't kept in touch with anyone after school ended, not even Goyle. He'd felt ready for a new start, yet dreaded the inevitable questions new friends would bring. So he remained alone, and aloof, completely untouched by it all.

Draco Malfoy didn't need anyone, after all.

It got a bit lonely after a while, but he couldn't really say he regretted his decision. He didn't long for Hogwarts days, in fact, he wished to avoid all memories of them, because it all ended badly and he wished he could forget most of the decisions he'd made. He wasn't ashamed, not of who he was, but he often wondered what would have changed if his choices had been different.

He never reached a conclusion he liked.

Which is why he mainly avoided thinking. The sight of an old classmate, someone who knew what his role had been in those final days, had clearly brought back memories he'd been trying to repress. If he were truly as smart as he liked to think he was, he'd turn the other way, walk out of the room and hope he never laid eyes on her again.

Instead, he took a deep breath and went to look for her. She owed him a dance.

"A Malfoy?" her presumed uncle had been saying when he came close enough to listen, and he wasn't quite sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. He didn't really care one way or another, if he was to be honest with himself. He'd been interested in her, not in her presumed family.

"Draco Malfoy. And I do believe I owe him another dance, so I'd better go find him," she said, with much more charm than she ever used while speaking to him, and headed for the other side of the room.

It took her close to fifteen minutes to find him, and yet he made no move towards her. He'd missed the better part of the conversation, he was sure of that, and it's not like she'd really said anything, in his favour or against him. But it was out in the open now, acknowledged. Of that he was sure. She wasn't just dancing with any other former classmate. It was Draco Malfoy._ That_ Malfoy.

She was bound to ask now.

"Mr. Malfoy," her voice dispelled his somewhat gloomy thoughts. "I do believe I'm in line for another dance."

"Certainly, Miss Greengrass," he said, and he felt quite proud to see his voice seemed to have returned.

The rest of the night passed by in what Draco would later describe as a blur. It wasn't a completely pleasant feeling, he could feel the edges of a familiar worry as he held on to her slender form, but he seemed stuck in the rhythm. His mind wandered, and yet the thoughts weren't all-consuming, his attention was elsewhere, so they didn't seem to matter.

He'd never stayed at one of these parties so late.

They lingered together near the dance floor for a while, while people bid their goodbyes and left, some quietly, some in a much more boisterous manner. They didn't really talk much, but for the first time in more than Draco cared to admit, he felt that companionship really didn't bother him.

He saw the signs that she would soon be leaving before she turned towards him. In the corner he could see her uncle, and a woman he could only presume to be her aunt, bidding farewell to the hostess. He wasn't sure he'd ever see her again, and he felt he ought to say something, but he couldn't come up with any words that could express something he didn't really understand.

She saved him from coming up with something by whispering his name.

"Draco?"

"Yes?" His voice was firm, but he could see in her eyes that the question was taking form, wouldn't remain unspoken for longer. She would ask, and he would have no answer. The spell will be broken. He wouldn't be the mysterious stranger with a secret to hide. He'd be just Draco. And as Draco he'd have no answers for her.

"Would you care to escort me to Mrs. Abney's party tomorrow? I daresay it will be more interesting than this one, and I'd enjoy the company."

He caught his breath. His hands shook imperceptibly, and he made a fist, tried to control the sudden impulse. There was nothing on his face, but he thought he saw her eyes softening, and for a second, fancied that she might, perhaps, be able to understand him.

"I'd be delighted," he murmured, in a voice much softer than usual.

She smiled. "See you tomorrow, then, Mr. Malfoy" was all she said and she didn't even look back as she headed for the exit, leaving behind her a trail of hope only Draco could see.

_To be continued …_

_A/N: Because this grew from COCKTAIL smut to ZOMG full-blow Draco/Astoria. Ugh. I blame Celestine, mostly. She wanted it. I've got two chapters to go, one from her POV and the last one the promised SMUT. Hang in there!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Story Title: Cosmopolitan **

**Part 2/3**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly. Not that I've ever particularly wanted Draco, but he seems to be taking over. :sighs: JKR owns them.**

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Astoria Greengrass had never been one to follow the rules.

She'd never exactly been a rebel, either. She'd just endeavored to find a way to get what she wanted without actually appearing like she particularly cared. At eleven, being sorted into Slytherin hadn't been what she wanted. Her family had never placed any particular expectations on her, and although her sister Daphne had been a Slytherin she'd always fancied herself a bit more of a Ravenclaw.

By the time she left school, however, she knew enough about her own character to understand why she was inherently a Slytherin.

Yes, she was a bit bookish. She reveled in learning, in new information, new ways of procuring knowledge. She wasn't particularly ambitious -- at least she didn't think so -- and if she'd been asked, at eleven, what she thought was her defining characteristic, she would have said her mind, without a doubt.

In a way, she was glad that the Sorting Hat had been able to see beyond her first impressions.

Seven years had taught her that her willingness to do whatever it took was the thing that set her apart from the Ravenclaws. And though for a while, she'd been, if not angry, disappointed, at the Sorting Hat's decision, she fancied it had helped her see clearly what was inside her.

Draco Malfoy had come into her life at the precise moment he needed to.

There was a general reputation associated with Slytherins ever since the war, and she'd been subject to a few comments on that regard, but she'd never been particularly bothered by it. She hadn't been old enough to fight, and she still wasn't entirely sure she would have, if she'd been given the chance, but she hadn't had to make a choice, and for that, she was safe.

She knew quite well what things were like for those who'd been able to make a choice. Her sister had never been the same after the war, repressed guilt mixed with what Astoria could only call relief, had managed to shape her into a completely different person. It was hard to battle with those conflicting emotions.

For Daphne, though, it had been relatively easy. For all their Pure-blood status no one in her immediate family had been associated with the war, on either side. If it was possible to be somewhat invisible in the struggle, her family had managed it. Her father was entirely too old to even consider fighting and everyone else had been too far away to really be noticed. It was for the best. No sense in taking a side unless you were sure it was the winning side, her father had once said.

Curiosity had always been one of her character flaws. It was part of what originally made her think she'd be suited for Ravenclaw, that insatiable urge to know everything. She'd somehow spared Daphne of the thousand questions she'd wanted to ask because she'd quickly understood that the subject wasn't one her sister enjoyed.

But she was still curious.

Draco Malfoy had presented the perfect opportunity, standing there in the corner of the ballroom in the last place she was expecting to satisfy her curiosity. She hadn't heard anything from the Malfoy family since the war ended. Presumably they'd moved far away, trying to put the war behind them. She didn't exactly blame them; many families had done the same thing.

Still, it seemed just too easy for her not to try it.

Expertly, she gained ground on him, making conversation with a few acquaintances on the way. She wasn't one to proceed without a plan, but she didn't stop to mull over what she'd say to him either. If she did, she would have probably reconsidered. Her mind would take over and tell her that it was just absurd to think that she could just come up to someone she didn't know and expect him to bare his soul.

The moment she came face to face with him was the moment she realized she didn't want to ask him. Her curiosity hadn't waned, but there was something about the look on his face

that almost touched her. It wasn't warmth in his eyes, or a hidden pain that she could discern just by looking at him. Instead, his face was oddly blank, almost as if he didn't know who he was supposed to be.

"Astoria Greengras. You were a couple years ahead of me at Hogwarts," she introduced herself, confidently. Confidence had never been one of her problems, a fact which had gained her a fair share of admirers at Hogwarts. There was apparently something alluring about a girl who stated what she wanted and made no apologies for it.

It had sometimes been mistaken for arrogance, but Astoria Greengrass had always been perfectly aware of what she wanted and what part she needed to play in order to get it.

"Erm, Draco Malfoy," he responded, clearly off-guard. His expression had transformed completely; it wasn't blank anymore, but she couldn't make out the emotions on his face either. "I can't say I remember you from Hogwarts."

She didn't really expect him to. She'd been two years younger, and the last two years he'd had more important things to worry about. Her memories of him hadn't been exactly extensive, either. She'd never had a reason to really look at him. He wasn't particularly attractive to her; she'd always gone for the dark and brooding sort, and he'd been anything but that.

"I didn't think you would," she replied. "Or I wouldn't have introduced myself."

There was something of incredulity in his face that almost made her smile. He didn't seem too convinced of her assertion, and it was very arrogant of him, in a way that she didn't truly mind.

"I will admit I was a little relieved at seeing a familiar face among the crowd, so I will apologize for imposing myself on you. Parties like these make me rather uncomfortable," she continued, and she wasn't even sure if she was lying or not. Relief hadn't been the emotion she'd felt at the sight of him, and she really wasn't all that uncomfortable. She'd admit, however, that she'd rather be in her room reading a good book than having her feet trampled by lousy dancers, so at least part of what she said was true.

The lie didn't matter, though. She'd merely recognized what he wanted to hear to feel comfortable with her, and she'd provided it. She was good at that.

"Not very Slytherin of you," he told her, and was surprised at his insight. Or maybe he was just guessing. It was a Slytherin trait, one that had been especially honed by all the members of the House after the war. Assume everyone who's talking to you was also a Slytherin. Isolation at its best.

"Whoever said I was a Slytherin?" She half-smiled, completely aware of his eyes looking over her face, as if searching for missing clues of her personality.

"You were a Slytherin," he assured her, but there was something on his face that she could clearly identify this time: confusion. He wasn't sure, and she thought perhaps he made the assertion only because he didn't really want to consider the possibility that he might have wasted a few words on a Gryffindor.

"I was," she found herself saying, and it was actually surprising how he made her want to confess something about herself. She'd approached him looking for answers, and she'd quickly given up the slight upper hand she had with him. It was almost like she wanted them to be on level ground, just to see what happened later. "I've always prided myself on my ability to appear rather insignificant, though. Innocent, if you will," she admitted.

Her revelation was greeted by silence, but she didn't really notice. She was too consumed with the thoughts bouncing inside her head. She'd never admitted that out loud, to anyone. She'd barely admitted it to herself. This sudden urge to reveal important tidbits about herself couldn't be normal, could it?

If Astoria was used to anything, it was being in control. She'd been in control in her house, her parents too detached to actually forbid her anything. She'd been in control at Hogwarts, both with her friends and in her relationships. Even in her relationship with Daphne, which had always been an equal relationship in her estimations, she'd felt like she was gaining the upper hand lately.

"You don't really seem innocent," he said, interrupting her thoughts, and she jumped slightly. Brilliant. She probably looked like a stupid little girl caught in a daydream. And he was just conceited enough to think it was about him.

Her only possible defense was to respond quickly, hope he hadn't noticed.

"You only say that because I admitted that I was trying to appear so."

He seemed to consider the notion, but she didn't expect him to concede the point. He didn't exactly strike her as someone who'd give up on his convictions so easily, and she had a hard time understanding why that made him even more interesting. He'd said nothing special, and she'd ended up sharing information with him that she just didn't share with anyone.

It was unnerving, because even up close, she didn't find him that attractive. His was too pale, his hair too blonde, his posture too arrogant. All things she normally wouldn't look twice at, but in him seemed to be strangely alluring. It was taking curiosity one step too far, now she was far more interested in the subject than what he had to say.

"Would you care to dance, Mr. Malfoy? I do believe you're suited to withstand the hardships much better than my previous partners," she proposed. A cliché, she knew perfectly well. It wasn't that she wanted to feel his arms around her as much as she didn't want him to just leave without giving her a chance to ask. She wasn't really interested, she was playing a part, she told herself.

The music was nothing striking; she wouldn't remember what the song was tomorrow. He was a graceful dancer, and she amused herself with the mental image of him in dancing lessons. She couldn't see his face, but she was somehow sure that he wouldn't be dancing with her if he wasn't feeling more relaxed. A new song started, and they continued to move around the dance floor effortlessly. He was a far better dancer than what she usually had to deal with.

Her uncle was signaling at her from the corner. She wanted to stay and talk to him, which was usually a good sign that space was needed. "Thank you," she said, as soon as the music stopped. "I do believe my uncle is calling me. I guess I'll see you later."

It all sounded a bit abrupt, but she couldn't exactly add anything now.

"Save me another dance." His voice reached her when she'd taken a few steps away from him. She was tempted to believe she'd imagined it, but his face firmly reflected his intentions this time. She was interested, against her better judgment, and maybe she wasn't the only one.

"Will do, Mr. Malfoy." Her voice wasn't trembling, but it felt awfully loud to her own ears. A smile threatened to cover her face if she didn't leave, so nodded at him one more time and headed for her uncle.

A few people distracted her on the way to him, old acquaintances of childhood days saying hello, and even an unfortunate-looking boy, asking for a dance. She took as much time as she could. She had a feeling she knew what was coming next, and her uncle could do with a bit of waiting.

"Found a decent partner?" he inquired when she finally made her way to him, and Astoria could see through his scheme. It didn't do for a Ravenclaw to try to trick a Slytherin. He should have known better by now, having married one.

"Yes, indeed," she replied, but there was more she wanted to say. She'd never been one to be particularly outspoken, but the words just wouldn't stay in. "What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

He tried to appear innocent, but it wasn't entirely convincing. His lips were still slightly crooked into a smile. He was an amateur, she was an expert. There was no way she was falling for that one.

"A Malfoy?" was the only response, but she could see what he was trying to say. How they'd managed to avoid being ridiculed by her parents' fortunate choice and the lack of a male of the proper age to become a Death Eater. That she could ruin all everything with her choice.

She didn't truly care for what he was going to say.

"Draco Malfoy. And I do believe I owe him another dance, so I'd better go find him," She'd made a decision, and even her uncle understood what it meant. He didn't stop her or offer any more advice, but she could see his thoughts written all over his face. Irritation swelled up inside her. A walk would do her some good.

After fifteen minutes of not even looking she found herself standing in front of Draco Malfoy once again. The conversation with her uncle, though short, had been a turning point. She wouldn't normally find Draco attractive, but she did now. She would normally only care about the information she could get out of him, but she didn't.

She genuinely liked him.

"Mr. Malfoy." She felt like she was flirting, but all she was really doing was being forward. She'd done that before. She just didn't think she'd ever done it with someone she actually cared about the answer. "I do believe I'm in line for another dance."

"Certainly, Miss Greengrass,"

It was all a comfortable haze after that. She'd promised a song to someone else, she was sure of it, but Draco didn't let go of her again. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what she was feeling, but in all the time since they'd started dancing, she'd never once thought about all those questions she'd once wanted to ask him. That was probably a sign.

The room started emptying, but they lingered near the dance floor for longer than was strictly necessary. He didn't say much, but she didn't particularly care. It was a strange feeling.

Her aunt and uncle were already saying their goodbyes, and she'd soon have to leave. She was acutely aware of the fact that she didn't want to leave, and it all had to do with him. Maybe she'd never see him again, and she couldn't bear the prospect.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

He responded quickly, but he seemed a bit hesitant. She was stuck between all she wanted to say, and the suddenly unbearable need to make sure she'd see him again

"Would you care to escort me to Mrs. Abney's party tomorrow? I daresay it will be more interesting than this one, and I'd enjoy the company."

It was a desperate attempt, and rather shameless of her to ask, she knew, but there was calmness as the words escaped her mouth. She'd always felt like that after setting a plan in motion. It wasn't as much about getting what she wanted; it was about making sure she'd done her best to get it.

He caught her breath and her eyes softened perceptibly.

"I'd be delighted," he murmured, in a voice much softer than usual.

She smiled the first real smile of the night. "See you tomorrow, then, Mr. Malfoy" was all she said and she walked away from him.

_To be continued …_

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A/N: I' not sure where to go from here. I intended to write these two chapters and then go on to write some smut, but now the characters seem to want more ...and I'm just NOT sure. __Suggestions? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Story Title: Cosmopolitan **

**Part 3/3**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly. I never actually wanted Draco before, but yeah ...you know. Not mine anyway. ::sighs:: JKR owns them. **

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**Neither of them planned for it to happen this way.

He'd made plans, he would admit to that. Someone might even have called them fantasies, but he found the notion ridiculous. They weren't fantasies when you were sure they were going to happen. It was just a matter of when.

She wasn't exactly the type to make plans, and yet she'd always thought she'd have more control about the way things developed, once they finally did.

It wasn't passion of the _Can't-take-hands-hands-off-of-you _variety that finally drove them to it. They'd experienced that, one long night, a few months ago, when they didn't know each other well enough to be alternating kisses, her back pressed up against the wall one second, his head meeting the same fate seconds afterwards. It was just one frenzied blur of tongues, moans and ragged breaths until sense had come back to them in the form of Astoria's father.

He tried to tread carefully after that. Her parent's weren't particularly pleased with him, but he wasn't naïve enough to think any parents would be too pleased with him right now, and she seemed the right combination between undaunted and conciliatory that he had the feeling that maybe, perhaps, she truly did care. She wasn't with him just to spite her parents, or just the opposite, because her parents approved.

No, as strange as it seemed to him, she could actually be with him because she wanted to.

Plans had nothing to do with it, in the end, and neither did her parents. He'd considered renting a hotel room somewhere, whisking her away to a fabulous location in the Caribbean, but when they were standing in front of each other, in his dark and secluded room, he felt like he'd been holding his breath his whole life, and now, finally, he could breathe again.

His parents had reacted marginally better than hers to the whole notion. She was a Slytherin, and a Pureblood, yes, but she wasn't on his Father's short list, and now that he knew her, he found he couldn't care less. Marrying a Gryffindor was one thing, and in that respect, despite everything they'd gone through, he'd never challenge his father, but Astoria, for all those little things that made her not entirely suitable, had turned out to be exactly what he wanted.

Not what he'd always wanted, no. But in the past few months, she'd been instrumental in the discovery that his ideas, his thoughts – his desires, could change with time, should change with time. Perhaps he'd changed since leaving Hogwarts, without even noticing. He wasn't naïve enough to think she'd brought on the changes in him, but, if nothing else, she'd help him realize them.

He wasn't sure he was a better person now, and he'd argue with the definition of better if he could, but he'd changed. There was no doubt about that.

They'd been standing face to face that night, after having dinner with his parents. A formal, introduction, this-is-my-girlfriend kind of dinner. He wasn't sure if she understood the importance of such a thing, she was not as so used to the old traditions as his family was. For him, it was tantamount to a declaration: This is the woman I want. For good.

And it hadn't even taken courage. Something he'd agonized about before had turned out to be a simple afterthought. His parents had to meet her, after all.

Later, she'd explored his room with the same careful consideration she gave to everything. Like she wanted to understand what the room was about, what he was about. He thought she already had him figured out, but he let her look anyway. He didn't mind. It was unnerving how few things he minded when it came to her.

"This is …not you." Was all she said, as he hands came to rest on his shoulders. "It seems foreign …strange. Detached, if you will."

He looked around. "I think you're just taking your awesome powers of observation too far, my darling," he said, and he was surprised to see how easily the endearment rolled off his tongue. Like he was used to this. "This is an exact reflection of who I used to be."

"Someone who didn't know who he was?" she joked. Her eyes lit up, and her hands were tracing patterns over the soft skin of his neck. He felt utterly and completely lost, in a way that was foreign to him. He'd felt a lot of things the past few months, excitement, the uncontrollable urge to be near her, the incredible desire to say things, do things that he'd never even considered before.

But standing in front of her, safe in the knowledge that they were alone, his parents wouldn't disturb them, and she was looking into his eyes – and this was it, it was finally going to happen, he felt lost.

She seemed much more in control of the situation. Her hands were exploring his features, slowly, almost reverently. He didn't feel like he deserved this kind of attention. His grip on her slackened, and he abandoned himself to feeling as she covered his mouth with his, placing soft kisses over lips, and then covering his face – a strange rhythm to her movements, like she knew exactly what she was doing, and how to do it.

The doubts invaded him for the first time. She seemed confident, too confident, and yet he'd never know her to be anything but that. She wasn't an insecure little girl – he fancied she'd never been one. A big part of him wanted to chalk up her self-assurance to that fact, and yet a small part was screaming. He'd never felt jealous before.

He was using to wanting things – and getting them. It didn't apply to the bigger things in life, he'd learned that lesson the hard way, but when it came to affection, comforts – companionship, he'd never been lacking. He wanted something, and then he got it.

It was irrational that the thought of someone having her first threatened to take over his enjoyment of this moment. It wasn't his first time either, he tried to remind himself. And he had more than one miserable night to look back on, but for the first time he regretted not taking advantage of every opportunity laid before him.

He couldn't think of her with anyone else, and at the same time, wished for much more experience. There was a contradiction somewhere in there; a part of him clearly recognized that, but there was nothing he could do about it. Feelings had taken over. He had no control.

She recognized a change in him before he even realized one had come.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her hands framing his face. There was no uncertainty in her eyes. Why did he feel scared, then, if she wasn't? Why was he hesitating?

'You've slept around,' he wanted to tell her, but he didn't dare. He knew she wouldn't allow it. And no matter how much of an ass he was – he could be, a bigger part of him was somewhat scared of loosing this – of loosing this moment, this feeling, because of something petty.

"Nothing," he rasped out, took a deep breath, and got lost in her eyes, in the smell of her, in the feel of her hands against him.

"Good," she said, and he thought that perhaps she knew something was wrong, she'd sensed his hesitation, and was letting him off the hook, forgiving him for a perceived slight.

Stupidly, he felt his eyes water, and to hide it, he brought his lips down to hers, let his hands roam down her back, and when she responded in turn, he closed his eyes and pushed aside his doubts. They would surely revisit him, maybe even soon, but for now, he didn't want to care.

He made quick work of her clothes. She wore something loose-fitting, of some type of cloth that slipped through his fingers easily, but he was too focused on what the garments were hiding to worry about the material. She matched him in turn, her hands working deftly on his buttons, her teeth marking the soft patch of skin on his neck.

Feelings overwhelmed him, and he wasn't one to let himself be overwhelmed. There was simplicity to his desires that he couldn't trace back to anything, because he was quite sure he'd never experienced it before. All he wanted was to be closer to her, to feel her wrap her arms around him and then close his eyes – and stay there.

Tenderness gave way to something else, as her hands peeled away layers of clothing. He traced the contours of her shoulders, slowly, marveling at the softness. He remembered that fateful night when her father had interrupted. He'd been bolder then, devouring her mouth, looking for creative ways of getting under her dress robes, to feel her skin against his hands.

He felt the embers of that passion renew themselves as she looked at him with something that could only be described as hunger. His bed was somewhere close, he knew this room well enough, and yet the time it took him to grab her by the waist and push her towards the bed seemed like an eternity.

There was skin against skin and he forgot about her mouth for a moment, tasted the sensitive spot in her neck. He didn't care if he left a mark.

She didn't seem to care either, for she was biting down on his shoulder, hard, tracing his torso, alternating tongue with teeth in a rhythm that made him want to wring his hands, and yet his hands were around her, and he wanted to push her away, bring her closer, he wasn't exactly sure.

A moan escaped his lips as she reached his trousers, and he wondered, not for the first time, why he'd never felt so completely weighed down by desire before. He had experience, not as much as he would have wanted; maybe not even as much as she, but enough that he was supposed to have experienced all of this before.

Enough that the sensations shouldn't catch him off guard.

Her mouth was soft, and wet, and he wanted to explode when she touched him. Instead he desperately held onto a pillow, and cleared his mind, almost without noticing. Coherent thought wasn't possible anymore.

Instinctive reaction was, however, and when he felt he was going insane, he grabbed her by the shoulders forcefully, and brought her up to him, let his hands show him that she was just as ready as he was, and, locked eyes with her as the embrace turned into movements, and the movements into moans.

She bit down on her lips, trying to remain silent, and he wanted to tell her that it was inconsequential, that the walls were to thick to carry any sound, that his parents wouldn't really react like hers would, but he couldn't find his voice. He tried to communicate with actions, by slowing down his movements, trying to put some tenderness into his caressing of her back, but she shook her head quickly, and pushed down harder into him, making it impossible for him to go slowly.

"Don't stop," she rasped, and her voice was the final straw in his self-control. His vision blurred, and he thought he could feel her nails digging into his back, but he wasn't sure, for her was too focused on that other feeling, and she looked up at him at the same time, and eyes locked, they felt themselves get lost.

She reached out for a blanket, what felt like eons later. His mind still wasn't working perfectly, and there was an unfamiliar weight against in chest, almost as if there was something he was feeling, something he wanted to say.

He fought against the urge to speak. Spontaneous had never been a word used to describe him. He liked to plan things, to consider every little detail. He wanted things to be perfect.

"Marry me?" his voice betrayed him. He was suddenly that person, the impulsive one, the one who talked before thinking. He'd never wanted to be that person, and in this, he found, he didn't truly mind.

She looked up at him, a gentleness in her face that hadn't been present in their lovemaking. There was certainty in her eyes, and yet he thought she was going to ask if he was sure. And, he was, more than anything. Her parents wouldn't be pleased, and his would just nod and do what they were expected to do. It wouldn't be a big ceremony, no hordes of distant relatives trading stories.

But it would be theirs, their very own beginning. In a way, his very own beginning.

"I'm …overwhelmed, underwhelmed, astounded …amazed. There are not enough words to express what I feel. I wouldn't even dare to try. I don't know many things…but this I do know: I want you to marry me."

"Almost close enough to a good proposal, Mr. Malfoy," she said, and he let out a relieved breath. Joking was good. She wouldn't make a joke if the answer was no.

"A bit ...premature, if you ask me. But you've always been one for assurances, haven't you?" she let out something that closely resembled a giggle, but he couldn't recall ever hearing her giggle before. It was something so unlike her, that the sound would resonate in his mind for the rest of the day.

"You know what the answer will be …when you ask me again, under the proper circumstances."

"So, yes?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Draco. Why don't we just enjoy the moment?" she drawled, as she snuggled up to him. "There's always tomorrow."

Instinctively, his arms came around her. The uncertainty was still there, still present, but for her, he pushed the doubts to the back of his mind, closed his eyes, and let himself rest. They had tomorrow, and the day after that.

_The End_

_A/N: This started just as a challenge for smut, but the characters took over me. I will say that it was – enlightening, to write Draco. He turned out to be a much more interesting character than I thought he could be, and I ended up loving this pairing. I wouldn't rule it out in the future. They might even deserve a full-on story. _


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